


A Horse With No Name

by ladyarcherfan3



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2013-12-29
Packaged: 2018-01-06 16:06:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1108838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyarcherfan3/pseuds/ladyarcherfan3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean investigate a case involving a horse that is more than meets the eye.  </p>
            </blockquote>





	A Horse With No Name

“A Horse With No Name”  
By ladyarcherfan3  
 **Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my own imagination; I am just borrowing the characters and some ideas for entertainment.  There is no relation between the stable described in this story and any stable by the same name in any state, or any relation to any people with the names used here. Title from the America song.   
Set in mid-Season 2, (post “Bloodlust” and “Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things”)  
 **Summary:** Sam and Dean investigate a case involving a horse that is more than meets the eye.  

* * *

  
 

“Good God, he’s even more gorgeous in person!”  The woman leaned against the gate of the riding arena, surveying the horse and rider pair walking towards her.  
   
“Wait until he starts going over fences!” replied the rider as she dropped her stirrup irons and checked the girth.  She rubbed the sleek neck of the coal black stallion before jumping up into the saddle.  The horse tossed his head and preened under the attention.  
   
The rider went through a quick warm up on the flat and then moved to a small set of jumps.  The first woman, the new owner of the stallion, watched with obvious pride.  The stallion had the makings of a champion all over him, and with the right trainer and some time, he would be worth far more than she paid for him.  As the stallion landed after the final jump, the owner waved and called out to the rider.   
   
“He looks great!  How do you feel about taking him over a few of the cross country fences as well?”  
   
The rider shrugged.  “Sure.  We’ve got some light left.”   
   
Out of the arena and in an open field of grass spotted with a number of naturally inspired jumps, the stallion became excited.  He tossed his head, snorting loudly, ears flicking back and forth rapidly.   
   
“Easy boy,” she soothed.  “I think he likes being outside!” she called out with a laugh as the stallion’s prance opened up into an eager, athletic canter.   
   
“Just be careful!  I don’t want either of you hurt!”  It was dusk, but there was just enough light to do a few fences.    
   
With another laugh, the rider pointed the stallion at a low hedge.  He cleared it easily, ears pricked forward as a stone wall came into view.  With an eager snort, he surged into the air and over the obstacle in perfect form.  She grinned in excitement.  This horse was far too fun!  
   
Suddenly the reins were jerked from her fingers as the stallion put his head down and bolted.  Fighting for control, she called, “Whoa, easy boy!”   
   
The stallion’s ears didn’t even flicker towards her.  She managed to latch onto one rein and tried to pull him into a small, tight circle; it was the best way to stop a bolting horse.  As his head came around, the stallion’s eyes blazed a strange gold color, but she hardly noticed.  Just when she thought she had control, the stallion snorted and whipped his head the opposite direction, ripping the reins from her hands with almost no effort despite her firm grip.  Her eyes flew open in horror.  This horse was stronger than any she had encountered before.   
   
The stallion gathered himself and sprang into the air.  With a scream, the rider  grabbed fistfuls of mane to steady herself as they flew over a jump; in the dim light and her own shock, she didn’t even know what it was.  There was a loud splash as they landed in a wide ditch of water.  The stallion stumbled in the mud; she lost her seat and fell, helmet banging heavily on the lip of the ditch before she tumbled into the water.  
   
The owner stood frozen in shock as the stallion bolted and leapt into the ditch.  The horse and rider disappeared from view for a second and then the horse sprang up again, scrambling out of the ditch and galloping across the field.  The saddle was empty and the owner screamed in horror as she suddenly saw the other woman’s limp body, trailing after the horse, one foot lodged in a stirrup.   
   
The stallion squealed and galloped back towards the stable.  As he neared the owner, he gave a buck, and the rider’s boot twisted out of the stirrup.  The body flopped down next to the owner, who could do nothing except stare in horror at the battered body of the woman on the ground as the hoof beats of the stallion faded into the distance and dusky light.

 

 

*

  
“This could be interesting.”  Sam spun his laptop towards Dean.   
   
Putting his sandwich down, Dean squinted at the screen where several windows displayed newspaper articles and pictures.  
   
“Dude, I’m all for checking out chicks in tight pants and tall boots, but how would that interest you?”  
   
Sam rolled his eyes.  “Someday, we will work an actual case with strippers and your life will be complete.  Until then, can you focus?  Dean?  Dean!”  
   
Dean blinked and pulled himself back to reality.  “What?”  
   
“The focus of your attention should be the horse here, not the girl.”   
   
“The girl is more my type, though.”  
   
“Well, then, I hate to break it to you, but she’s dead.  A riding accident.”  
   
“And beyond our genuine sorrow at the loss of a beautiful woman, how does this matter?”  
   
“The horse’s name is Connemara’s Dúlamán,” Sam sounded out the name carefully.  “He’s an eventing stallion from Ireland.  A few years ago, he was bought and shipped to the US for an apparently cheap price, and started training.  Unfortunately, his rider died in a freak accident involving a jump with a ditch of water.  He was sold and bought again, and again the rider died in an accident.  The same thing happened just last month, and was sold again.  He’s at a stable in Virginia now.”   
   
“So he’s not exactly my friend Flicka, huh?”  
   
“Pretty much.”  
   
Dean shook his head and pulled the laptop closer to read.  “Horses are big animals; people have accidents around them all the time.  Doesn’t make it supernatural.”  
   
“Well, according to this,” Sam took the computer back and pulled up another web page, “the horse changed hands a few times in Ireland as well.  The guy that sold the horse to the first American owner claimed it was cursed; hence the reduced price – he just wanted to get rid of it.   
   
“That sounds like more familiar territory.  Let’s go to Virginia.”

 

*

  
Oak Leaf Stables was clean, well laid out and high class enough that to make Dean remark, “These horses live better than some people.”   
   
He hit Sam’s shoulder lightly.  “Do you think we could get a room here for the night?  The barn is cleaner than the hotel room.  The scenery isn’t bad either,” he added as a young woman in a close fitting shirt, breeches and tall boots went by, a riding crop swinging from one hand.  
   
“Seriously, man?” Sam demanded.  “Try to focus for once.  We’re looking for the barn manager.”  
   
“Yeah, what was the name?”  
   
“Kelly Sullivan.  Unless there is another manager that I don’t know about?”  
   
The brothers turned to see a plainly dressed woman with a half friendly, half calculating look on her face.  Despite her inconspicuous looks she carried herself with an obvious air of authority.   
   
“Kelly Sullivan,” she said, holding out her hand.  “I’m the stable manager here, if you hadn’t guessed.”  
   
“I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean.”   
   
Kelly smiled and shook their hands.  “So, what brings you to Oak Leaf?”  
   
“Uh, we’re looking  . . . to take some riding lessons,” Sam said quickly.  
   
“Really?”  Kelly’s lifted her eyebrows as she inspected the brothers from head to foot.  Between Dean’s heavy boots and Sam’s casted arm and both of their heights, neither of them looked like prospective students.  “I hope you realize that we focus in hunter jumper lessons with some equitation and dressage lessons. . .”  
   
“Yeah, we know,” Dean cut in.  “We were also hoping to get a tour of the place.  We hear that you have something of an equine celeb here.”  
   
Kelly didn’t reply for a moment, but then she said, “Celebrity?  Oh, you don’t mean Dúlamán, do you?”  
   
“Yep, that’s the horse,” Dean said with an easy grin.   
   
“Well, he’s not exactly a celebrity, but he certainly has a reputation.”   
   
“We were just interested; we heard he’s got good prospects.”  
   
Kelly looked at the brothers for a moment, calculating and weighing their words.  Then she glanced down at her watch.  “I have a little bit of time now to show you around, and maybe see Dúlamán, if that works for you?”  
   
Sam and Dean eagerly agreed and followed in Kelly’s wake through the barns and grounds.  A large majority of her commentary was ignored or bounced off them completely, the equine vocabulary unknown and unneeded as they kept an eye out for anything that could tip them off to strange activity.  Eventually they went through the indoor arena, where a lesson was taking place.  Kelly pointed and gestured as she explained what was happening.  The Winchesters smiled and nodded inanely.   
   
“So, Sam and Dean, how much riding experience do you have?” Kelly asked.  
   
“Uh, well,” Sam began, but Dean interrupted.  
   
“I did some a few years back – went packing in the Rockies with my dad.  Hunting trip.”  
   
Kelly nodded, somewhat surprised.  “Elk?”  
   
A small, dark smile pulled at Dean’s lops but didn’t reach his eyes.  “Sure.”  He blinked away the shadows and said with a bright smile, “Sam wasn’t around for it.  College boy was too busy studying.”  
   
They reached the door leading out of the arena.  Kelly ushered the brothers through and a green expanse of paddocks and trees, and a cross country course appeared.   
   
Sam spoke up suddenly.  “Are there any bodies of water on the property?”  
   
“Yes,” Kelly said slowly, taken by surprise.  “There are the water jumps on the course, and a pond out in the field with the riding trails.  You would have seen it when you drove in.  Why?”  
   
“Just curious.”  
   
“Well, let’s head over to the small barn and meet Dúlamán, shall we?”  Kelly took off at a brisk walk.  
   
Sam lagged behind and Dean turned, lifting his eyebrows in a question.  
   
“Elk hunting?” Sam asked.   
   
“Look at all the adventures you missed while you were at college.  I’ll tell you about it later.”  
   
“You’d better.”  
   
“Sure, man, sure.”  
   
They walked into the small barn, the name quite obvious, as it contained only three stalls and a few storage areas.  There was only one stall filled, and the horse pressed his nose against the bars of his stall, looking for attention.   
   
“This is where we keep the new horses in quarantine.  My horse live here too, but he’s out in a paddock right now.”   
   
“Quarantine?” Sam asked.  “Is Dúlamán sick?”  He inspected the barn again, looking for anything from sulfur to too many dead bugs to indicate some supernatural presence.     
   
“Standard procedure,” Kelly replied.  “Keeps the new horse from bringing his germs to the home herd, and helps him adjust to their germs.”   
   
She stopped in front of Dúlamán’s stall and swung open a section of the bars.  The stallion’s sleek black head appeared instantly, nostrils fluttering with quiet nickers.   
   
“He’s very friendly,” Kelly said with a chuckle, rubbing the horse’s broad forehead.  
   
Dean stepped closer and Dúlamán reached out to sniff at him.  “I’d say.  Hello boy.”  He patted the stallion on the neck comfortably.   
   
Sam hung back, not as comfortable with the large animal as Dean was.  From where he stood, however, there was nothing about the horse to suggest it was cursed or anything other than a normal animal.  Dúlamán was a nice looking horse, almost Hollywood quality, as far as Sam could tell.  The black coat was so shiny it almost looked wet, and a wavy mane hung heavily against the long, elegant neck; the forelock reached almost to the horse’s nose.   
   
Kelly noticed Sam’s inspection and said, “He’d a bit shaggy now, but once he gets a trainer and being prepped for shows, he’ll look quite sophisticated.”  
   
“Oh,” Sam said, at a loss for words, “I thought he looked nice.  You know, very Black Stallion-equse.”   
   
Dean choked on a laugh, and Sam pointedly ignored him.   
   
“We prefer our horses to look professional,” Kelly said with an understanding smile.  “But I’ll give you that there is something wild and exciting about this horse looking the way he does.”   
   
“How long has he been here at Oak Leaf?” Sam asked, angling for more information.  He finally extended a hand for Dúlamán to sniff.   
   
“About two weeks - his owner bough him from someone in Maryland and had him sent here.  Apparently there had been a riding accident.”  
   
“He’s not your horse?” Dean asked in surprise.  
   
“Oh, no!” Kelly laughed.  “He may have been going cheap for an Irish bred sport horse, but that’s far too rich for a humble stable manager.  And I don’t jump at his level, so he’d be wasted with me.”  
   
“I’m sure he’d make you look good, and you’d make him look good,” Dean said with a crooked smile.   
   
Kelly smiled back.   
   
Sam bit back a sigh and asked, “Why wouldn’t Dúlamán have been selling for full price?”  
   
“It’s odd,” Kelly said, a pensive look on her face.  “He’s got great lines, and a lot of potential, both as a performance horse himself and as a sire.  He’s had great results in show jumping.  Other than rumors of fatal accidents surrounding him, I have no idea.  But everything in the horse industry is made or broken by word of mouth.  Something bad happened, people talked about it, and it stuck.”  
   
Sam and Dean traded looks, and Dean pressed the topic.  
   
“But you don’t believe the rumors?”  
   
Kelly shrugged and closed the window of Dúlamán’s stall.  “Accidents are pretty common with horses, especially with anyone that jumps.  Granted, Dúlamán seems more unlucky than any other horse I’ve heard of, but I think a lot of it was just nervous rumors.  He’s a good horse and deserves a chance.”  Kelly sighed slightly and turned and gestured to the door.  “Well, I can show you two back to the main office, but I need to get back to work.”  
   
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” Sam said, stepping away from the stalls gratefully.   
   
As they walked through the door, Dean stepped a bit closer to Kelly and dialed up the charm.  “If we are interested in lessons, or just visiting again, when would be a good time?”  
   
Kelly smiled back, an eyebrow raised.  She might be planning one of the worst mistakes of her life, but there was something about the brothers that intrigued her.  She wanted to keep an eye on them if they were interested enough to show up at her stable again, especially as they were so fascinated with Dúlamán.  
   
“Tell you what,” she said.  “Come back here tomorrow around four thirty.  I have several horses to ride, along with Dúlamán.  You might be able to help out.  
   
“Perfect!” declared Dean.  “I’ll look forward to a good ride.”  
   
“I bet,” Kelly said dryly.

 

*

  
Back at the hotel, Dean opened a beer while Sam opened his laptop.  After a few minutes Dean grabbed their dad’s journal from his bag and flipped it open.  
   
“Any ideas?” he asked.  
   
“Animal possession, maybe.  Water related curses.  Pretty much everything we had before.”   
   
“Do you think it could be like the Hell House in Texas?  Enough people believing in something to make it happen?”  
   
Sam shook his head slowly.  “Hmm.  I don’t think so.  I didn’t see any symbols on or around the horse that would suggest that, and there can’t be _that_ many people that know about the horse and his reputation.  Even if he’s being sold again and again, I doubt anyone is going to advertise the fact that he kills his riders.”  
   
“I hate to say this, but why not . . . shoot the horse, or at least put it out to pasture?”  
   
“Money,” Sam shrugged.  “Kelly said something about “great lines” so he must obviously be worth something, and everyone who invested in him wants some sort of cut, despite the accidents that make them so nervous.”   
   
Dean shook his head.  “People, man, I tell you.”  He looked down at the journal again.  
   
Sam hummed noncommittally.  Several minutes passed, silent except for the click of Sam’s keyboard and the rustle of the journal’s turning pages.   
   
After several glances at his brother, Sam asked, “So this elk hunt you mentioned  . . .”  
   
Dean didn’t look up.  “A young hunter – not an elk hunter, you know, a _hunter_ – called us up, said there was a black dog.  Got out there, turned out it was a rabid wolf, no black dog.  Rode out a day and a half to find a bloated corpse of a wolf.  Saddle sores for nothing.”  
   
“That’s it?” Sam almost laughed.   
   
“Yep.  But it was a good time,” Dean said, his expressive pensive.  He took a drink of the beer, silent.   
   
Sam’s frowned slightly.  His brother’s struggle with the loss of their father had evened out recently, but Sam didn’t want a relapse; it would do Dean good to actually talk about their father, even if Dean hated “chick flick moments”.   
   
“Come on, Dean,” he said.  “You can talk about Dad and remember him.  In fact, it’s a good thing.”   
   
“I thought you went to college to be a lawyer, not a shrink,” Dean shot back.   
   
“Have to be able to get into people’s head if you’re a lawyer.  Not that it’s hard to get into your head – not much in there.”  
   
“Bitch.”  
   
“Jerk.”  
   
Sam let the silence ebb around the room for a moment as they both fell into their own thoughts before speaking again.  “So, if we don’t find out anything else to help us on this case tonight, I think you should go back to the stable tomorrow and keep investigating.”  
   
“Why not you?  Scared of the horsies, Sammy?”  
   
“No!” Sam declared too quickly.  “It’s just that you already have the riding experience and I’ll do more good researching here.”   
   
Dean chuckled.  “Sasquash is afraid of the ponies.”   
   
“Shut up.”

 

*

The next day, Sam dropped Dean off at Oak Leaf a few minutes before four thirty.  Their research had not yielded any real results, but Sam said he might have a lead connected to the horse’s Irish roots.  Dean agreed to find out what Kelly knew of the horse’s early history as well, and then Sam went back to the hotel and the internet with the Impala.  As the roar of the engine faded, Dean made his way to the small barn once again to meet with Kelly.  
   
The sound of a chanting song met his ears as he opened the door of the barn.  He tensed, realizing the words definitely weren’t English.  Stepping inside, he blinked, trying to let his eyes adjust to the dim light of the building.  One horse stood tied next to a stall, looking curiously at him.  Dúlamán was cross tied at the other end of the aisle, Kelly standing to one side with her back to the door as she brushed out the stallion’s long tail.  She was the one who was singing.  Dean closed the door loudly.  
   
Kelly jumped slightly and turned around.  “Oh!  Hello Dean.”  She looked over his shoulder.  “Where’s Sam?”   
   
“He had some things to do in town,” Dean replied.  “I hope you aren’t too disappointed with only me.”    
   
“Not at all,” she replied, moving to put away the brush and pick up the saddle pad.  “I was just thinking your brother is very brave or very reckless to want to ride with his arm in a cast.  If you don’t mind me saying.”   
   
Dean smirked.  “I doubt you’d actually convince him to get on the horse if it came down to it.”  He paused and then asked, “Were you singing when I came in?”  
   
“Uh, yeah, if you want to call it that.”  A blush crept over Kelly’s face.  “It fills the quiet when I’m working by myself and the horses don’t mind.”  
   
“It didn’t sound English.”  
   
“Irish.  The song was “Dúlamán”.”  
   
The horse pricked his ears at the sound of his name and turned to look at Kelly.  She smiled and swatted his nose away.  “Not you, silly.”  She swung the saddle up onto the horse’s back and adjusted it.  “The song is a traditional Irish tune.  Basically it’s about two men vying for the hand of the same girl by proclaiming their worth because of the quality of the seaweed they gather – one for dying cloth, the other for eating. _Dúlamán_ is seaweed.”  
   
“Seaweed?”  
   
“Irish traditional songs can have some interesting topics.  But the horse is named Dúlamán so I thought it was appropriate.”  
   
She finished saddling the stallion and went over to the other horse, an athletic but calm bay gelding.  Dean noticed with some relief that the horse was wearing a deep seated Western saddle, not the tiny English saddle Dúlamán had on.   
   
“This is Juniper.  He’s my horse and multi-talented – hence the Western saddle in a hunter-jumper barn.  He’ll take good care of you.”   
   
Dean’s half smile flashed into existence.  “Do you think I need to be taken care of?”  
   
“Maybe.”   
   
Despite Dean’s obvious attempts to flirt, Kelly’s response was more guarded than he expected.  Without another word, Kelly picked up a helmet and handed it to Dean.  “This should work.  And put on these boots.  Yours are too heavy to fit in the stirrups.”  
   
“You’re all sorts of prepared,” Dean remarked as he put on the plain brown cowboy boots that Kelly handed him; surprisingly they fit.  
   
“I run a lesson and training stable.  Have to be ready for anything.”  
   
Dean glanced at Dúlamán, still in the cross ties and looking entirely innocent and ordinary.  “I know the feeling,” he agreed.   
   
Kelly buckled on her own helmet and helped Dean lead Juniper out of the barn before turning back to collect Dúlamán.  She stopped short.  The stallion’s eyes shone gold for a moment.  Then he moved and his eyes returned to the normal liquid brown.   
   
“Kelly?  Something wrong?” Dean called.  
   
She shook her head.  “No.  Must have been the light.”  She led Dúlamán out of the barn and past Dean.  “Come on, let’s hit the trails.”

 

*

  
Sam sat up suddenly, the ache in his eyes and neck from hours of research forgotten.   
   
“This is just weird enough that it might be true.”   
   
He leaned over the computer again, fingers flying over the keys in a new search.  A few minutes later he slapped the laptop shut and hurried out of the room, pulling the Impala’s keys out of one pocket and his cell phone out of the other

 

*

  
Oak Leaf boasted nearly ten miles of trails around the property and through the cross country course, and Kelly seemed more than willing to show Dean all of them.  Not that he minded much.  It took a while to find the balance and feel of horseback riding again, but once comfortable, Dean was able to relax a bit.   
   
It made it easier to continue his as subtle as possible interrogation of Kelly for information on Dúlamán.  He started asking a few questions about breeds and the differences between Dúlamán and Juniper.  After an hour of leisurely riding and intense talking on Kelly’s part, Dean had learned more about hunter jumpers, Irish sport horses, warmbloods, and Appendix Quarter Horses than he would ever need or want to know.  Yet, he did manage to discover one point that might help him on the case.  Apparently, Dúlamán’s sire had not been registered, nor had he sired any other foals.  Kelly admitted this was very odd for a horse with Dúlamán’s maternal blood lines; such horses were usually only bred to the best of stallions.  
   
“So he’s a bit of mystery,” Dean said.   
   
“Appropriate,” Kelly replied.   
   
She didn’t turn to look at Dean, but the tone of her voice put him on edge.  
   
“What?” he asked warily.  
   
“It just seems a little off that I get a horse with a strange reputation and a couple weeks later some guys show up, asking all sorts of questions about the horse.  The dots want to be connected.”  
   
The trail opened up out of a stand of trees.  The cross country course spread out to one side and the fence line bordering the road stood on the other; the surface of the nearby pond flashed almost red from the low sun.  Kelly swung Dúlamán around to face Dean, her expression wary and questioning.  
   
Dean grimaced.  “Strange?  How do you mean?”  
   
“Oh, please,” Kelly sighed.  “Don’t play ignorant.”  When Dean didn’t answer, she continued, her voice getting sharper as she spoke.  “Two men show up at my stable.  One with a cast on his arm asks about riding lessons, but is uncomfortable around horses, and never shows up to actually ride even after an invitation.  The other one does show up and asks all sorts of questions about the horse and his blood lines, but doesn’t know the difference between a Quarter Horse and a warmblood.  Tell me there isn’t something strange happening.”  
   
“All right, all right!” Dean said, struggling to keep the suddenly nervous Juniper still.  Dúlamán also shifted and tossed his head uneasily, picking up on his rider’s tension. 

 

“Well?” Kelly demanded.   
   
“Sam and I are investigating the horse, it’s true.  But not like you might think – whatever it is you think.”  
   
“Enlighten me.”  
   
Suddenly Dean’s cell phone rang.  He gratefully pulled it out, juggling the reins in one hand; Kelly frowned severely at him, but waved a hand to give him permission to talk.    
   
“Yeah, Sam?”  
   
“Dean, where are you?”  Sam’s voice through the phone was muffled by the light wind blowing across the field on Dean’s end and the roar of the Impala on the other.   
   
“Oak Leaf, you know that.”  
   
 “ _Where?_   Are you close to Dúlamán?”  His tone was sharp with impatience.   
   
“Yeah, I’m out riding with Kelly.”  
   
Kelly looked up at the sound of her name, frustration clear on her face.  On a whim, Dean suddenly switched the phone to speaker mode and turned the volume as high as it would go so Kelly could hear what Sam was saying.   
   
“Damn it,” Sam said.  “Get away from water. I’ve figured out what Dúlamán is.”   
   
“What?”  Kelly demanded.  “He’s a horse!”   
   
Sam’s voice crackled out of the phone’s speaker as he shouted. “He’s half kelpie.  It’s almost dusk, and if you’re close to water, another accident is going to happen!”   
   
Dúlamán snorted and reared.  Taken by surprise, Kelly cried out and struggled to keep her seat.  She quickly found her balance and pulled one rein to force the horse around and down on all fours again.  The instant his front feet touched the ground, the stallion squealed and bolted.   
   
“Sonuvabitch!”  Dean shoved his phone back into his pocket.  “Kelly, get off of him!” he shouted, kicking Juniper into a gallop.  As the horse sprang forward, Dean focused on hanging on and trying to formulate a plan.   
   
Yards ahead of Dean, Kelly hauled on one rein to pull Dúlamán into a small circle but the stallion refused to turn.  She yelped in surprise as she was nearly pulled from the saddle as the stallion grabbed the bit in his teeth and ripped the reins from her hands.   
   
Still too far away to help and barely gaining on the black stallion, Dean looked up to see the Impala flying down the road opposite the pond that Dúlamán was flying towards.   
   
“Sam!” he bellowed, releasing his death grip on the saddle horn to wave frantically.  He didn’t know if Sam would actually see him, but the action was automatic.   
   
 Dúlamán’s hooves dug into the soft mud on the edge of the pond as the Impala screeched to a stop.  Before Sam could open his door, the stallion squealed and leapt into the water.  Kelly still fought to gain control, tugging uselessly on the reins.  Dean shouted wordlessly and urged his horse faster.  
   
Sam sprang across the hood of the Impala - sparing half a thought to the hope that he wouldn’t dent it – with a coil of thin chain in his hand.  “Kelly!” he shouted, “Bail!  Get off the horse!”  
   
Kelly heard Sam’s shout over the panicked roar of blood in her ears and the splash of water as Dúlamán fought further into the pond.  She pulled on the reins again, refusing to give up.  The stallion tossed his head and screamed.  Kelly’s fingers went numb and she froze in absolute terror.  Dúlamán’s eyes blazed gold in the twilight.  Something was wrong.  Sam shouted at her again, and she tried to kick her foot out of the stirrups but her boots were lodged.  Something was very wrong.  
   
Dean reached the edge of the pond and stopped Juniper hard, jumping from the saddle as soon as his feet were out of the stirrups.  Stumbling in the soft mud, he saw Kelly drop the reins and kick her feet wildly, the stirrups refusing to move.  At the same time, Sam vaulted over the fence and raced towards the pond.   
   
“Kelly, get off!” he yelled.  
   
Dúlamán reared as Kelly screamed, “I can’t!”  
   
Dean splashed into the water as the stallion dropped down and then reared again, higher than before.  Kelly clung to his mane in terror.  Reaching for his pistol, Dean suddenly realized that he had left it in the Impala.  He swore.   
   
“Kill it, Sam!”   
   
The stallion reared a third time, pawing the air furiously.  The mingled scream of horse and rider pierced the air as the pair tipped backwards and fell into the water with a gigantic splash.  They didn’t get back up.  
   
Sam jumped into the pond with a shout of denial, struggling to run against the pull of mud and water.  Dean redoubled his efforts, clawing at the water as it rose past to his waist.  Then he stopped.  The water where he and Sam struggled was disturbed and roiling.  The exact area where Dúlamán and Kelly had fallen was preternaturally still, that the ripples and waves from the Winchesters’ frantic movements did not touch.  
   
“What the hell?” Dean panted.   
   
At the same moment, another scream cut through the air as Dúlamán erupted from the water, rising immediately into a rear.  Kelly, somehow, still clung to the stallion, one hand tangled in the long black mane.  Her feet were still firmly wedged in the stirrups, but both legs were on the left side of the horse, the stirrup leathers straining against the strange angle.  
   
“Dean!  Grab the horse!” Sam shouted, running as fast as he could through the pond.  
   
With a grunt, Dean threw himself through the last few yards that separated him from the horse and rider.  The stallion spun to face him with a squeal and Kelly nearly fell.  He made a grab for the dangling reins, but Dúlamán jumped forward and slammed his chest and shoulder into Dean, knocking him down.  The stallion struck out a fore hoof, connecting with Dean’s head with a hollow thump.  He disappeared into the roiling water with a splash.    
   
Sam shouted his brother’s name as the stallion spun to face him.  Kelly had managed to grab mane with her other hand, but she was simply holding on in terrified reflex.  Gasping, Dean hauled himself out of the murky water.  Blinking, he saw the stallion leap at Sam, eyes glittering with a supernatural brightness and color.  
   
“Sam!”  
   
Instead of moving, Sam stood his ground, shaking out the length of chain he still carried.  His face was a picture of raw determination and equal terror.  Vampires and ghosts didn’t scare him, but a horse did; something in Dean’s brain unconsciously marked down the moment for future teasing.  Just before the stallion reached him, Sam darted to one side and threw the chain in a wide loop over the stallion’s head like a sloppy lasso.  The stallion squealed again and slid to a halt.  Sam quickly threw a small loop over the horse’s nose to make a rough halter.  Dúlamán tossed his head and danced in place, but did not pull away.  
   
“Dean, you okay?”  
   
“Yeah,” was the weak reply; Dean scrubbed at the water and mud in his face, wincing.  
   
“Then get over here!” Sam shouted, struggling to hold the horse and reach Kelly at the same time.  
   
When Dean reached them, Sam shoved the chain into his hands saying, “Hold the horse.”  
   
Sam caught Kelly as her grip on the mane loosened and he helped her untangle her feet from the stirrups.  “Easy,” he coached her as she struggled to stand on her own.  She nearly managed it, but Sam held onto her until shaking knees cooperated again.  
   
Kelly was streaked with mud and very pale, but she visibly strove to control her terror and the shock; Sam’s steady hold at her shoulder and waist was a relief.  She looked at Dean, also wet and muddy, holding onto Dúlamán with loops of chain around his neck and face.  The horse looked miserable and somewhat confused, but no longer the strange eyed monster that had taken her to the bottom of the pond.  
   
“Something was wrong,” she said thickly.  “I’ve been bolted with before, reared off and fallen off, but there was something strange with the horse.”  She looked at Sam and Dean.  “A kelpie?”   
   
Dean pulled off the helmet he was still wearing, pausing a moment to look at the impression that the hoof had left on it.  “Nice,” he muttered.  Then he continued, “Let’s get out of this muck hole before we start this.”  
   
Kelly nodded.  “We need to get the horses back, too.  Discreetly.  I don’t need any more stable gossip than necessary.”  Despite her words, she didn’t move, as if her body had not caught up with her brain.   
   
“I’ll come with you,” Dean offered.  “I’ll lead Dúlamán if you can handle your horse.”   
   
Kelly nodded shakily.    
   
“I’ll bring the car around to the front,” Sam said.  “Is there someplace we can talk and not be overheard?”  
   
“My office.”  
   
“Good, we’ll explain everything there.”  
   
“You’ll be doing most of the talking, Sammy; _I_ still don’t know what’s going on.”  
   
“Can’t keep up?”  
   
“Shut up.”  
   
Sam held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.  “Don’t be pissed because I save the day with research and quick thinking while you fell in the water.”  He turned around and slogged through the water, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you in the barn.  And don’t take that chain off of Dúlamán!”  
   
“Dude makes a good guess on a monster we barely understand and suddenly he thinks he’s the freaking horse whisperer and Superman all in one . . .” Dean muttered as he helped Kelly out of the pond, keeping a firm grip on the chain the entire time.

 

 

*

  
By the time Dean and Kelly made it back to the small barn, Sam was pacing.  A halter hung from one hand and a few scraps of fine iron chain lay on a neat pile on the floor.  Kelly looked up in surprise.   
   
“What did you do to Dúlamán’s halter?”  
   
“Added iron to it.”  Sam held it up to show links of chain that had been cut apart and rewrapped neatly around the brass hardware.  “I think it will help for now, so we can take the chain off him.”   
   
With Dean’s help, Kelly exchanged the chain for the halter, both of them wary of any change of attitude from the stallion.  Dúlamán stood complacently through the whole procedure.   
   
Noticing their discomfiture, Sam spoke up.  “It should be pretty safe to handle him now – we’re away from water, and it’s after twilight.”   
   
“So he has to set the mood to go psycho?” Dean asked sarcastically.   
   
“Basically.  But let’s continue this conversation somewhere else – in dry clothes,” he added, looking at Kelly, who was beginning to shiver.  
   
Dean had noticed it as well.  Kelly had withstood the effects of shock surprisingly well as they had led the horses nearly a mile across the field.  Now with the ebb of adrenaline, he could see the woman fighting for control.  “Yeah, good point.”  
   
“Kelly do you have dry clothes you can change into?” Sam asked gently.  
   
She nodded jerkily.  “Yeah, got some spare stuff in my office.”   
   
“OK, we’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes?”  When Sam got her nod, he and Dean left the barn and went to the Impala. 

 

*

  
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as the Winchesters entered Kelly’s office.  She sat at her desk, hands wrapped around a large mug as she stared at the screen of her computer.  Sam closed the door before she looked up.  
   
“Help yourselves,” she said, waving at the coffee pot and the mugs next to it.  Her face was still pale and her eyes were now bloodshot as if from tears.     
   
Dean pulled out a hip flask and leaned over to her mug.  “Mind?  Might help take a bit of the edge off.”  
   
Kelly hesitated and then nodded; Dean poured a healthy dose of the liquor into her coffee.  As the brothers settled into the mismatched chairs in front of the desk, she said, “So I just Googled kelpies.  And I still don’t believe it – or at least I don’t want to.”  She took a long drink from the mug.  “But, I am willing to listen to your story.”  
   
Sam and Dean traded glances and hesitated on where to begin.  Dean started.  
   
“Remember when I said that we were investigating the horse, but not as horse people?  Well, we hunt down paranormal creatures.  This horse looked like one.”  
   
Kelly silently held out her mug to Dean.  He poured out another measure of whiskey and she took a large gulp, wincing at the burn, before speaking again.  
   
“Why?” She asked.  “Why Dúlamán?”  
   
The brothers tag teamed as they explained the strangeness of the deaths surrounding Dúlamán and why it would have gained their attention.  Kelly sat silently through the story, occasionally raising her eyebrows in interest and disbelief.  
   
“Explain the kelpie,” she said finally.  
   
“All yours, Sammy.”  
   
“I’ll use small words so you can understand.”  
   
Dean snorted but didn’t reply.  
   
Sam looked back to Kelly.  “The key was in the clue you gave us about Dúlamán’s blood lines.  I started researching those.  There were rumors from Ireland already that the horse was cursed, and eventually I found some little mention that Dúlamán’s sire was not a horse, hence the curse.”  
   
“Not a horse?” Kelly asked at the same time Dean muttered, “That’s more than a bit wrong.”  
   
“I looked into it more, and found stories of the Irish myth of the kelpie.  They were creatures that would lure a rider onto their back and then gallop off into water and drown the rider.  Some stories claimed that the kelpies would mate with horses to produce offspring that would also kill people.  Dúlamán also looked the part – black coat, so shiny he looks wet, and a long mane and tail.”  
   
“His looks don’t prove that much,” Kelly argued.  “And just because his sire wasn’t registered doesn’t mean it was a creature.”   
   
Sam nodded slightly.  “True.  But did you ever see Dúlamán’s eyes change color – to gold?”  When Kelly’s face drained of color, Sam asked, “When?”  
   
“They were gold when he bolted into the pond.”  
   
“Saw that,” Dean agreed.   
   
“So did I.  All together: the rumor about his sire, his looks, the place and time of the deaths all equaled one thing: kelpie.”  
   
Kelly lifted the mug to her mouth but lowered it before taking a drink.  “Why is that significant – the time of day?”  
   
“It is also part of the Celtic myths.  They called dawn and dusk the “in-between times”, when there was more power than other times of the day.”  
   
“So the power in the horse wakes up at these times, but is dormant otherwise?” Kelly asked.  
   
Sam nodded.  “Yep.”   
   
“So he just can’t be handled around water at sunrise or dusk?”  
   
“I think I also found a fix for that,” Sam replied, rather proud of himself.  
   
“What, your awkward makeover for his halter?” Dean demanded.  
   
“That’s a quick fix, but that’s the idea.  A kelpie can be controlled by a bridle.  And like a lot of supernatural creatures, it doesn’t like iron.  So a bridle or halter with iron in it should work.”  
   
Kelly looked up.  “Dúlamán’s bit is copper mouthed.  Should I switch it to sweet iron?”   
   
Sam blinked in confusion but quickly recovered.  “Yeah, if it’s iron, it should be good.”  
   
“But what happens if that doesn’t work?  You don’t know for sure do you?”  
   
Dean replied, “Not really.  We’ve never run across a kelpie before. We’ll have to have a contingency plan for it.”  
   
Kelly nodded slowly.  “All right.  I’ll find him a new bridle, and we can meet tomorrow before dusk to try out your theory.  I’ll ride him past the pond again.”   
   
“Kelly, you don’t need to do this. . .” Dean said.

“No,” she interrupted.  “This is my stable, and the people and horses here are my responsibility.  I can’t let a horse that could go crazy and hurt someone just go around, not if I can fix it.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”  She picked up her mug and drained it.    
   
Sam and Dean traded helpless looks.  The conversation was over.

 

 

*

  
“So we’re going to let her risk her life again on the theory that you made about an iron bridle?” Dean demanded as they drove back to the hotel.  
   
“What do you suggest, one of us ride the horse?”  
   
“No - because if we’re going through this plan, we’re going to be on the ground with iron rounds in our guns to shoot the thing if it goes Hi-Ho-Physco-Silver again!”  
   
“Then do you have a better idea?  Kelly knows what she’s getting into and is willing to help.  If we don’t try it out, then the horse could be sold again and more people will die.”  
   
“We could just shoot the thing before it kills anyone else.”   
   
“But we don’t have to kill him to keep him from killing people!  Dúlamán can’t help what he is, but that doesn’t mean we have to hunt him!”  
   
“Don’t even go there, Sam!  This isn’t like Lenore and those “friendly vamps” you found.  This is just an animal, it can’t reason like Lenore did.  It can’t make the decision.  And it’s a supernatural animal, so we’re the ones to keep it from hurting people.”  
   
“Dean . . .”  
   
“Listen, I don’t want to gank an animal like this horse any more than you do, especially if it’s not a monster.  But if that’s what we have to do, that’s what we have to do.  People shouldn’t die on our watch.”  Dean sighed as he turned the Impala into the hotel parking lot.  “We’ll go back tomorrow and let Kelly ride.  But if that horse even twitches the wrong way, I’ll shoot it.  End of story.”   
   
“All right.”  Sam clambered out of the car and led the way into the room.  He immediately went for his laptop.  “I’ll do some more research.  Maybe I’ll find something more concrete.”   
   
Dean settled on his bed and started unlacing his boots.  “Yeah, you do that,” he muttered with a small shake of his head.   
   
Sam stayed at his computer long after Dean had fallen asleep, researching anything that might make the temporary fix a permanent one.  The case, despite the oddness of the origin, should have been simple.  Yet, it was bothering Sam.  After the incident with Lenore, the desire to just gank any and all supernatural threats had ebbed – if there was a chance it could be saved then he wanted to find it.  There had to be a way to fix this without having to kill the horse.     
   
The next morning, Dean woke up to see Sam slumped over the table, the laptop still open next to his sleeping head.  Dean sighed and walked over to his brother, and shook his shoulder lightly.   
   
“Get up Sam.”  
   
With a groan, Sam sat up, fighting past the cramped muscles that had formed in his neck and back.  “What …?” he asked thickly.  
   
“We don’t have to be to the barn until this afternoon.  I need you sharp – catch up on the sleep you didn’t get last night.”  
   
“’Kay.”  
   
As Sam stumbled to his bed, Dean asked, “Did you find anything?”   
   
Sam shook his head.  “Just something about the kelpie’s power residing in its nose.”  
   
“So we cut off its nose?”   
   
“Dunno.  Will think of something.”  
   
“Whatever, man.”  
   
Dean shook his head as Sam rolled over a few times and fell asleep again.  Though Dean didn’t see much of an option outside of putting the horse down to prevent its kelpie tendencies from taking over, he was willing to give it a chance.  He pulled Sam’s computer closer, reading the information already on the screen before opening a few new searches of his own

 

*

  
Sam shifted his weight from foot to foot as he watched Kelly ride Dúlamán around the pond.     Dean stood next to him, poised for action but not tense; he kept his hand near his belt, ready to grab his pistol if needed.  Chewing his lip, Sam looked between the horse and rider and the sun, trying to gauge the exact moment when the “between time” would begin.  Involuntarily, the weight shifting became a tiny pace, one step from side to side.   
   
“Oh, would you relax already Sam?” Dean groaned.   
   
“Sorry, it’s just . . .”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, but if you keep it up, you’ll rile up the horse, not to mention me.”   
   
Sam didn’t reply but looked back at Kelly and Dúlamán.  There was a dull chiming from the stallion’s bridle as he moved and tossed his head; Kelly had added rings of iron to the brow band and cheek pieces of the bridle.  She had admitted it was hardly professional and would never be allowed in competition, so the fix was not a permanent one by any means.  Yet she had seemed strangely confident that nothing would happen as the day faded away.   
   
The sky turned soft shades of gold and red and then lavender as the light faded.  The horse and rider circled the pond, splashed in the shallows and even went over a small jump.  Dusk came and went, and the only signs of excitement the stallion showed happened when a bird on its way to roost swooped close to his head.  
   
“It worked!  Dean, it worked!” Kelly cried as she cantered over to the brothers, looking like a ghost rider in the early night, her grey shirt and tan breeches glowing dully.  She hopped out of the saddle and wrapped her arms around Dúlamán’s neck.  “Good horse, good boy!” she gushed, running one finger over his muzzle gently.  
   
“Hey,” Dean said, smirking, “I don’t know if he’s the one deserving all that attention.”  
   
Kelly laughed.  “Sorry!”  She sprang forward and gave Dean a quick hug.   
   
“Wait a minute!” Sam said, “Dean didn’t come up with the iron bridle idea.”  His words were directed at Kelly but his gaze and tone were sharp and turned towards Dean.     
   
“No, he didn’t.  Thank you, Sam, for the quick thinking with the chain yesterday,” Kelly said, giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek as well.  “But Dean came up with this,” she stroked Dúlamán’s nose again.  Sam noticed the slight bump between the flaring nostrils.  
   
“I just agreed, you came up with the idea,” Dean argued.  
   
“What did you do?” Sam demanded.   
   
“I read over some of your research, about the kelpie’s power being in its nose,” Dean said.  “I called Kelly, and she’d done some research of her own.  We decided to try putting a bit of iron in his nose.”  
   
“My cousin is a vet – with a very open mind - and he came out and put an iron microchip in Dúlamán’s muzzle where it wouldn’t be very obvious or painful for him,” Kelly explained.  “And we agreed not to inform his owner, as it would be difficult to explain.”  
   
“A permanent solution,” Dean said with satisfaction.  
   
Sam reached out to gently stroke the stallion’s muzzle. “That’s amazing.”   
   
Dean rolled his shoulders, dissipating the tension that had settled in his muscles; despite the confidence that Kelly had for the microchip, he hadn’t been as certain.  However, he was strangely grateful that this job hadn’t ended with bullets or flames.  And despite his efforts to find a way for the horse to survive, Dean could see that Sam was upset.   
   
“Oh, here,” Sam said to Kelly suddenly, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket.  “You can contact me with this email if something happens with Dúlamán and his  . . .” he gestured at the horse’s muzzle.  
   
“Dark side,” Dean suggested.   
   
“Thank you, both of you, for everything,” Kelly said, taking the paper, smiling gratefully at the brothers.   
   
“Just keep an eye on that horse and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else,” Dean said.  A twist of guilt gripped his gut; he didn’t like leaving that sort of responsibility on another person, particularly a civilian.  
   
With a few more words of warning and farewell, the Winchesters trudged back over the field and over the fence to where the Impala was waiting by the side of the road.  Dean glanced back to see Kelly and Dúlamán cantering gently back to the barn, fading into the night.  Not exactly riding into the sunset, it was still impressive.   
   
Sam shut the passenger side door with a bit more force than necessary as he plopped down into the seat.  Dean grimaced as he got into the car and braced himself for the inevitable discussion.  The engine roared to life and the car slid down the road.  Several minutes passed in relative silence.     
   
“So, when were you planning to tell me you had a real fix for Dúlamán?” Sam asked, his voice quiet but dangerous.  
   
Dean deflected the question with an attempt at humor, “Need to know, Sammy, need to know.”   
   
“That’s not an answer, Dean!”  
   
“Hell, I didn’t even know if it was going to work!  An iron microchip in the nose?  I mean, come on!  I didn’t want to get your hopes up for saving this one, and then have to shoot the damn thing in the end anyway.”  
   
“We’re a team here, why has this suddenly slipped your mind?  You should have told me so I knew the situation.”  
   
“It worked out, didn’t it?”   
   
“This time!” Sam sighed in frustration.  “Listen, Dean, just don’t block me out or leave me out of the loop, okay?”  
   
Dean huffed out a breath and gave a slight nod.  The roar of the Impala’s engine filled the air and Dean smirked.

“Listen to that, Sammy – the sound of the best kind of horses, all under my baby’s hood.&rdquo

 

 

*

  
A few weeks later, between hunts, the brothers sat in another hotel room, attempting to occupy themselves.  Dean channel surfed with only passive interest, while Sam sat at his computer, researching as always.   
   
“Huh.”  
   
“What?  Got something?”  Dean tossed the remote down and walked over to Sam, peering over his brother’s shoulder to see the computer screen.  
   
“It’s an email from Kelly Sullivan about Dúlamán – and no, he hasn’t gone dark side,” Sam said quickly as Dean opened his mouth to speak.  “She wanted to give us an update so we didn’t have to worry about it.”   
   
“What, did he die?”  
   
“She bought him,” Sam replied with a small smile.  “She managed to scrape some money together – had to sell her own horse – and convinced the owner to give up Dúlamán.  She has even retrained him as a Western horse, so he won’t be around water as much.”   
   
“Well, if that isn’t a happy ending to the killer My Little Pony story,” Dean said sarcastically, but his expression was impressed.  “She’s pretty brave, taking on that responsibility,” he added after a moment.  
   
“She said it was her job to keep other people from being hurt by that horse now that she knew the truth about him.  But get this,” Sam said, closing one window on his screen and opening another.  “I think I’ve found another hunt.”  
   
“Thank God,” Dean said.  “Let’s go - the only thing on TV was _The Black Stallion_.”  
   
 _Roll Credits._

 

* * *

  
  _If anyone is interested, this is what I thought  the horses would look like:_

 

 

_This would be _Dúlamán - think just a little more refined as the horse here is a gelding as opposed to a stallion.__

[](http://s282.photobucket.com/albums/kk278/RHldy/?action=view&current=Dulaman.jpg)

 

_This would be Juniper - a bit more plain than the Irish Sport Horse, but honest and like all Quarter Horses, showing off his assets.  :)_   
[ ](http://s282.photobucket.com/albums/kk278/RHldy/?action=view&current=Juniper.png)   



End file.
